◀ Prev • [ All parts ] • Next ▶
Part 4-15: Chemistry
I had what amounted to a mild sunburn on every single inch of my body. And probably every kind of skin cancer. As soon as the numbness went away, I was enveloped by a cocoon of heat and dull ache, which turned into aggravating pain whenever I moved. I want to stress: whenever I moved. Anything. Blinking fucking hurt. Holding anything hurt. Let’s not discuss going to the washroom.
What was worse, somehow, was knowing that shit that went down in Clockworld could indeed affect real-world me. But in those moments after reappearing back in the condo, the number one terrible thing was having no idea what had happened with Tricia, Fergus and Persi. They were not responding to texts, or texts still weren’t going through—we couldn’t tell.
It was a miserable afternoon, all told.
Deluxe assumed the role of nurse, helping me limp to the washroom so we could get me into a cool bath. I swallowed a bunch of ibuprofen and tried to soak without whimpering as we waited for some kind of signal from the crew.
Once out of the bath I had little choice but to lie naked on my bed, the thinnest blanket in the place draped over me for modesty. Deluxe was stirring up some kind of home-brewed moisturizer when Persimmon finally got in touch.
Deluxe read me the text. “She says: heading back to town, what’s up?”
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“I asked them both to be as vague and conversational as possible over unsecured channels, as they’re almost certainly being intercepted.”
I’d forgotten about all the paranoia around the federal goons or whatever. It felt ridiculous, but then again, what wasn’t these days?
“Can you uh, vaguely ask them if the poor teenage girl is dead or not?”
Deluxe thought for a moment, then thumbed away at her phone.
“I’m writing, ‘how was the day trip?’” Then a moment later, “Persi says: great!”
“Vague and conversational,” I said, through gritted teeth.
“Necessary precautions,” explained Deluxe, and tested a blotch of her creamy concoction on my nose. My gripes temporarily dissolved as blessed, soothing coolness spread on my skin, and I spent the next fifteen minutes gingerly applying the stuff to my everywhere.
Two hours and three reapplications later, Fergus and Persi paid a visit. Everyone crowded into my room, standing over me like I was an ailing hospital patient, which in some respect was accurate.
“Holy moly, and I thought this place already had a bad case of lobsteritis,” remarked Fergus, upon seeing my new shade. “What did you do? What happened?”
“Nuh uh,” I said. “You first. Tricia?”
“Alive. Unappreciative. A little rude. Insisted we drop her off at the bus stop because we, and I quote, skeeved her out,” said Fergus.
“She remembered nothing about her travels to the bridge,” added Persi.
“Nor why she had a hangman’s noose ‘round her noosin’ parts,” said Fergus. “Was a frightful awkward conversation when she came to. I think I convinced her that we’d been walking through and saw what looked like a suicide-apparent, rushed to stop her—which is basically true.”
“I used the wifi, the hotspot,” I said. “The little pearl monsters, there was one on her face and more around her. I wanted to burn them off; they were blocking everything else. I might have overdone it.”
“That explains the kaput phone then,” said Fergus, wiggling the black, dead square of his phone at me.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’ve several unlocked spares I can loan you,” said Deluxe. “While Alena’s been in recovery I’ve also crafted a few more remotes, rewrote our local network encryptions, and cracked the central library’s database. Lending information is at our disposal.”
Fergus nodded at Deluxe, then clomped his former cell phone onto my dresser. “Don’t sweat the phone, worth the trade for a life, hey? And speaking of books, Persi and I went ahead and did a bit o’ borrowin’ ourselves.”
“Time is of the essence,” Persi said. “The faster we unravel Eden’s tests the faster we can get Dack back.”
“I’m aligned with that approach,” said Deluxe. “You went to Bannerman Drive?”
“To Dickweed Library itself,” confirmed Fergus. “We popped the yellow book into place, and out spat a red one. It’s in my car—wasn’t sure if it was safe or whatever to bring in here.”
“Go get it. Let me see,” I said.
“If you’re sure,” said Fergus, looking between me and Deluxe.
“Yes,” she said.
Fergus left. Persi watched a pair of budgies fly into the room, tracing their circular flight along the ceiling.
“This one is called The Secret to Sublimation,” said Persi.
“Is that like subliminal messaging or what?” I asked.
“Negative,” answered Deluxe. “It’s the process of affecting a state change from solid to gas, bypassing the intermediate liquid phase. I’ll be right back as well.”
Deluxe skipped out, leaving me with Persi and the Lobsters. All of them seemed to come to a group decision to rest on the bed, with the birds landing and chirping near my head, and Persi taking a seat on the edge by my side.
“Sometimes I do think I feel different,” she told me, fiddling with the fabric of her sleeve.
“Huh? Owww,” I had turned my neck too fast in reacting to her words.
“But only if I think about life before the clock,” she continued, talking towards my bedroom door. “I can remember details about who I was and what I did with my days, good times with Willy, with mother. Bad times too. But I remember them as if they’re a script, lines that I’ve memorized rather than a true experience. But, who’s to say that’s not all remembering really even is?”
“I never really thought about it,” I said. It was true.
“Think about your life before the clock. How does it feel? Does it feel real?”
“I, well—” A particular memory came thundering back, the same one that had pushed its way into my skull when I looked upon Constable Jimena, wielding a shotgun with a wild look in her eye. I stood behind a cash register, in a small soup shop—my own small soup shop—while staring down the barrel of a heavy, mean boomstick. There was a pot of boiling stock. Oh, that was all very much real, real indeed.
“Real enough,” I murmured, shrugging my shoulders back into the blankets, so that the scratchy pain might ground me in the present.
“If Eden’s still in me, please help me get it out,” said Persi.
Before I could respond, Deluxe came back in with a tablet.
“As before,” she said, “no The Secret to Sublimation on record but there is absolutely the truncated Sublimation in our library’s circulation. A Mister Ted Nijinsky is currently in possession. Local chemistry professor at the community college.”
Fergus re-entered as she was saying this, and said, “Yeah, science, bitch!”
“That’s a common misquote,” I said, “Similar to: Luke, I am your father.”
“Wait, what do they actually say?” He looked mortified.
“‘Yeah Mister White, yeah science.’ And: ‘No, I am your father,’” said Deluxe, without glancing up from her device.
“Let me hold the pages this time,” said Persi, standing up. Fergus reached into his bag, still wearing a dumbfounded expression. He produced a book with a dark red cover. Persi took it and held it out toward me.
“Ready for the next lesson?” I asked, addressing the room.
“I hated chem,” said Fergus. “Organic was the worst.”
“You ‘n’ me both,” I said. “I’ve got the wifi, ‘Luxe.”
“Go get it girl. See you on the other side.”
I took a deep breath as Persi opened the cover. Then I ghosted into Clockworld, twisted the wifi down (carefully), and sat up.
◀ Prev • [ List of parts ] • Next ▶
📚 Readlist 📚
